Wind & Stone
by Ruirik
Summary: After eighty years Pathfinder has seen it all, and tried to drink most of it away. When an eager young guard comes with questions for him, he is forced to relive some of his hardest memories. Memories of Home. Memories of Loss. Memories of wind and stone.
1. Prologue: The Legates Lookout

Lazy tendrils of smoke wafted through the open hall of the Legate's Lookout. The old cloudstone walls had once been clean and white, painstakingly shaped decades earlier. Now, countless candles, pipes, and hearth fires had left them tainted nearly black.. The Lookout wasn't nearly the bastion of life it used to be; most of the old Legionnaires that had frequented the tavern had succumbed to the relentless march of time. Many of the younger ponies that made up the recently formed Royal Guard preferred newer establishments where stallions and mares of all three tribes commingled. On an ordinary night, Stalwart would have been in one of those taverns. Tonight, however, was anything but ordinary.

With his snow white coat, perfectly cropped blue mane, and his polished steel armor lined with plates of gold, Stalwart was everything that the Legate's Lookout wasn't: a proper stallion of the new guard, young, ambitious, and loyal to the Diarchs. His comrades were unicorns and earth ponies, some of whom were the grandchildren of the stallions and mares that had quarreled with the relics of Cirra's once great legions.

Stalwart allowed himself the smallest hint of a smirk. It was, after all, a relic that he had come to the decrepit old tavern to find. One of the last relics of the Red Cloud War.

The Lookout was having a busy night; at least, busy by their much declined standards. In the tavern that could once serve nearly one hundred raucous and thirsty soldiers, there were now only a paltry dozen, including the Barkeep and Stalwart himself. Of the patrons Stalwart could see, the youngest looked to be in his fifties or sixties. None of them spared the young guard more than a curious passing glance.

Stalwart tried not to laugh as the patrons muffled their conversations further. He didn't need spectacular hearing to know that the old guards were likely talking about him. Over the quiet chatter, he could distinctly hear the gentle crackle of the hearthfire, and the soft, slightly off-key singing of another stallion.

Cantering over to the bar, Stalwart sat at the first empty stool he could. Another stallion, his coat and mane long since grey, glanced lazily at the young guard before returning to his ale. After a moment's wait, the barkeep trotted over. She was an older mare with a powder blue coat and a sandy blonde mane, though the color was fading as age took its toll. Still, she smiled to him with all the friendliness of a good server.

"Welcome to the Lookout, stranger."

"Thanks."

"What can I get for ya?"

"Ale, please," Stalwart answered, fishing some coins from his bag which he set on the old wood counter.

"Old Cirran, or Lowlands Ale?"

"Old Cirran."

With a look of almost relief, the mare nodded, scooping the coins up in her wing and tossing them into a trough below the counter. In her other wing, she hefted a mug from the back of the bar and set it under the tap. With practiced ease she filled the mug to the top with the dark liquid, a small head of amber foam crowning the drink. She smiled, sliding the mug down the smooth counter where Stalwart caught it in a ready hoof.

"Drink up, son."

Stalwart hefted the drink in a silent toast before bringing it to his lips. He closed his eyes as the potent drink filled his mouth. He hated Old Cirran. Like the Legions of old, the drink was bold and aggressive, with little nuance or flair to distract from the punch of the alcohol itself. The young guardspony vastly preferred the lighter, Lowlands brew. It was subtle, friendlier to infrequent drinkers such as himself, and one could taste the complexities of the drink that each specific brewhouse specialized in.

Swallowing the bitter drink, Stalwart set the mug down and forced a seemingly satisfied sigh.

"Thanks," he said to the mare.

She smiled, some of her weariness seeming to fade in light of the simple appreciation. "What brings you around here, lad? We don't see too many guardsponies around this part of town."

"I'm looking for somepony, actually," Stalwart answered, grateful for the excuse to not take another sip of the vile liquid.

"Yeah?" the mare asked, her right eyebrow arching curiously. "Troublemaker of some kind?"

"Not that I'm aware of," he answered, his hoof tracing over the tankard's worn surface. "I just need to talk to him, and I got a tip he spent a lot of time around here."

"Well, we don't have too many regulars here anymore, but tell me about this pony and I'll see if I can point ya to him."

"I'm looking for an old Legionnaire named Pathfinder."

The mare recoiled slightly, her expression caught between amusement and annoyance. Leaning forward, she kept her voice quiet as she spoke. "What do ya want with him? Old Finder doesn't need some uppity greenwing—"

Stalwart held up a hoof to the mare. "It's all right, I'm not gonna bother him. I just want to ask him a few questions, then I'll be on my way. Could you point me to him?"

Sighing quietly, the mare shook her head and pointed to a table at the far corner of the bar. "The old songbird always sits there."

Turning in his seat, Stalwart could just see the stallion, his coat and mane having long since lost the colors of his youth. His back was facing a wall stacked to the roof with old kegs and his wings hung loose at his sides. Stalwart couldn't tell if he was awake or asleep, not while his head was resting on his left foreleg.

Pushing away from the bar, Stalwart scooped up his tankard with a hoof and gave the mare a polite nod. "Thank you."

She nodded, pulling an old rag from below the bar and wiping down the wood surface. "Take care, kid. And if Finder tells you to leave, please leave. We don't want any trouble here, and I won't stand for my customers gettin' hassled."

"Yes, ma'am."

Careful not to spill his drink, Stalwart wound his way through the packs of tables and stools towards the old stallion. The closer he got the more he could hear it: an old voice singing a melancholic tune. It wasn't until he was almost on top of the old stallion that he realized what the mare had meant when she called him 'songbird.'

His voice was raw and quiet, but he didn't miss a single beat. Every word he sang with all his heart; no beat seemed less important than the one before it. He paid no mind to Stalwart when the young Guard arrived at his table.

_Buy him another round 'til the memories drown now_

_Buy him another round 'til the nightmares faded now_

_Buy him another round 'til the pain has ablated now_

_Early in the morning_

Stalwart shook his head, distracting himself from the lyrics. "Excuse me, Sir, can we talk?"

Pathfinder either didn't hear him, or ignored him, as he carried on, intent to finish his song.

_Hey-oh and up we're rising_

_Hey-oh and there we're fighting_

_Hey-oh we're up there dying_

_Early in the morning_

Pathfinder sighed sadly, his song finished. No hooves applauded, no young soldiers shouted for another, nopony offered to fill his cup. Those days, like the many he had cared for over the years, were gone. Faded to dust before the winds of time.

"Scout-Centurion Pathfinder?"

"Hmm?" he grunted, surprised by the voice. Leveraging his hooves against the tabletop he pushed himself upright, biting back a groan as the stiff muscles in his back straightened out. In front of his table was a young stallion, too young for the Legate's Lookout.

"Who're you?"

"Lieutenant Stalwart, Sir," he said, saluting with a hoof the way the new Royal Guard did. "Stahl, for short."

"And what can I do for you, Lieutenant Stahl for Short?" Finder asked, a bit of a grin pulling at the corner of his lips.

"May I sit down?" Stahl asked, motioning with his tankard to the seat across from Pathfinder.

"By all means, lad!" Finder grinned, a bit of energy returning to his old bones. "Sit, drink, be merry! Gods above know this place longs for the life it used to have."

Stahl chuckled, more out of politeness than actual amusement. He wasn't sure what he was expecting of the old centurion, but he could work with this too. "Tell me, what was it like?"

"Oh, pup," Finder chuckled, his head tilting back until his gaze was looking at the vaulted ceiling. "Years and years ago, the Lookout was a grand place. Full of song and laughter, fine ale and warm mares. Well, nevermind, the mares would sooner knock your teeth out than bed you, but it was a grand place.

"This here," he lightly pounded his hoof on the worn out table, "this here was the table of my regiment. Every week me and the boys would come in here, drink ourselves stupid, and sing 'til our throats were raw! Sometimes we'd fight, sometimes we'd cry, but most of the time we would laugh and live!

"Over there," Finder pointed to a table by the window, "I killed a private during Cyclone's Coup. Smashed him over the head with my tankard and buried my sword in his breast. And over there," his hoof moved to a table at the opposite corner of the bar, "that's where my wife beat up three stallions who thought I wasn't good enough for her." Finder chuckled. "Sad thing is, they were probably right."

"What happened?" Stahl asked.

Finder laughed, his smile becoming sad and his gaze nostalgic. "Time, my boy. Time happened. Even the strongest Legates can't hold her off forever. Over the years there'd always be a new empty seat. Sometimes we'd drink to a comrade who fell in battle, but after we got too old for the front it was disease or age that took us."

Finder sighed, picking up his tankard and gently swirling what little remained of the ale within. "I'm the last one now, aren't I?"

"There's a few left who were born in the homelands, but you're the last one I could find who served in the war, Sir," Stalwart confirmed.

Finder shook his head slowly and sighed again, his posture sagging as though the weight of the world had settled over his shoulders. His brown eyes cast down at his drink, silently recalling a thousand names and a thousand faces, each with countless stories to tell. His was the last, and all too soon, even he would fall to time's unyielding march. With a weary grunt, he lifted the tankard to his lips, swallowing what little ale was left in one gulp. Setting his cup down, he eyed the ale in Stalwart's hooves.

"You gonna drink that?"

Stalwart wordlessly slid the tankard across the table. Finder grunted his thanks, scooping the drink up in a hoof where he swallowed all the ale in one long gulp. Once he was sure he'd drained it of every drop, he set it down with a satisfied breath.

"Hey, Cirrus," he called to the mare behind the bar, holding his empty tankard up for her to see. "Another, please?"

"Just for you, or one for the kid as well?" she asked.

"Two, I'll drink his," Finder answered.

"That's a lot of Old Cirra," Stalwart noted, earning a hearty laugh from Finder.

"Pup, that's nothing!" he said, slapping the young Lieutenant on the shoulder and waving a hoof at the stack of empty kegs behind him. "Me and the boys are... were responsible for all those barrels."

"I'm sure it was a sight to behold."

"Oh it was, lad, it was a sight indeed," Finder answered with a melancholic smile. "So many songs, so many stories..."

Finder's eyes blinked quickly, banishing the traitorous moisture that threatened to seep down his cheeks. With a sharp breath, he forced a quiet laugh and shook his head. His hoof, worn and cracked with age, ran through the grey strands on mane on his head. Cirrus' timely arrival with fresh tankards was a very welcomed interruption.

"Two Old Cirran's for you," she said, putting the mugs before Finder.

"You're a goddess," Finder said, giving Cirrus a warm smile.

"I know," she replied with a wink, setting a third tankard in front of Stahl. "And a Lowlands Ale for the kid."

Stahl balked, "But... I didn't even—"

"You'll thank me later," she said, taking the two empty tankards from the table.

"I ordered Old Cirran, though."

"Yeah, I know. It was sweet of you to try, but you really didn't fool anypony in here."

"How—"

"Your face, kid," Cirrus explained with a playful smile, "looked like you were trying to swallow a rat."

"Pups these day," Finder grumbled, hefting the fresh tankard to his lips, "don't know a good thing when they see it."

"Anything else?" Cirrus asked.

"That'll do for now. Thanks, Cirrus," Finder answered, smiling up to the mare.

"Anytime, Songbird," she said, giving Finder a warm smile before returning to her spot behind the bar.

Stahl's gaze followed her retreat for a moment before he returned his attention to Finder. "She seems nice."

"Cirrus is a good girl," Finder agreed, taking a gulp from the fresh tankard. "Her parents built the Lookout themselves, back when Cloudsdale was a quarter of the size it is now."

Stahl nodded, lifting his tankard to his lips and taking a mouthful of ale. The brew was malty, light, and perfectly balanced between its component ingredients. A more discerning palate than his could probably even identify the specific kind of wood barrel the drink had been stored in after brewing. A gentle, almost satisfied sigh escaped Stalwart's lips after taking a few more gulps.

"So tell me, Lieutenant Stahl For Short," Finder began with a smirk, "what gets a shiny greenwing like you to seek out a codger like me?"

Stahl seemed to chew on his words, unsure of how to best express his mission. "Well, Sir—"

"Please," the old stallion held up a hoof, "call me Finder."

"I'll work on that, Sir."

Finder chuckled, motioning for Stahl to continue his explanation. "What is it you want, son?"

"I've been given leave for an expedition."

"Ooo, sounds fancy," Finder noted, smirking mirthfully into his tankard. "But certainly not something you'd need a pony of my age for."

"Begging your pardon, Sir, but that is incorrect."

Finder looked up from his drink, the young stallion having gained his curiosity.

"I want you to show my expeditionary team the way," Stahlwart leaned closer to Finder, his voice dropping to a hushed tone, "the way back to Dioda."

Finder's eyes widened in disbelief before quickly narrowing. "If that was a joke, then I certainly didn't find it funny."

"No joke, Sir," Stalwart promised.

"Then you're damned idiot. There's nothing in Dioda but griffons and death," he hissed, a sneer pulling at his lips. "We few barely escaped with our lives."

"Yes Sir, I know the stories."

"Whelps like you don't know a damned thing. The homelands were lost before you were a squirt in your mother's womb. Even Commander Hurricane, gods rest his soul, knew it was a fool's errand to go back there."

Stalwart snorted, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Fair enough."

"Why do you even want to know?" Finder asked, carefully watching the younger stallion's expression. "Is there another up and coming commander looking to lead a mighty army to reconquer our forgotten skies? A new usurper like that fool Cyclone with delusions of glory?"

Stalwart shook his head. "No, Sir, nothing like that. It's just that, well, we don't know much about the homelands anymore. And ponies with that experience are all but gone."

"That doesn't answer my question," Finder noted dryly. "Why do you want to know? What's this all about?"

"A simple scouting expedition, Sir. In and out, with not a soul to hear."

"If only it was so easy to avoid griffon patrols," the old stallion sighed, his hoof rubbing a large and faded scar on his left side.

"I have an excellent team, Sir."

"Then you're as deluded as you are stupid."

"Sir?"

"Have you ever seen a griffon, son?" the old stallion asked. "Do you even have the slightest idea what they're capable of?"

"We've studied the old journals—"

"So you know nothing!" Finder slammed a hoof against the table, earning the momentary attention of the Lookout's few patrons. He pointed a hoof to the faded white scars that crossed his face. "This is the least of what an unarmed griffon can do."

Stalwart sat up straighter, meeting Finder's gaze with steely resolve. "We're well trained sir. I assure you we can handle any griffon we might find."

Finder scoffed, his head shaking slowly. "Well trained, pfft. The Legions of the old empire were well trained. Does it looked like that saved us?"

"Well, you're here, I'm here, and Cloudsdale is here," Stalwart answered.

"Do you have any idea what it's cost us? How many died to get us this…" Finder waved his hoof in the air as he searched for the correct words. "This… empty shell of our past?"

Stalwart remained silent for a moment, contemplating Finder's question. He played with the tankard of ale in his hooves, his reflection looking back at him through the amber surface. Finally, he looked the old stallion in the eye. "I'd like to know."

Finder seemed taken aback by the soft spoken sentiment, his eyebrows scrunched together as he stared at Stalwart. "Why?"

"Why what, Sir?" Stalwart asked, a confused look on his face.

"What is this about? What are the ghosts of the past worth to you?"

"Well, Sir, the Commander of the Guard—"

"No, no." Pathfinder hushed Stalwart with the wave of a hoof. "I don't give a damn about Hurricane's daughter or some preening guard in shiny armor who wants her name in the history books." Finder leaned over, tapping Stalwarts chest with a hoof. "You, Lieutenant Stahl for Short, I want to know why you're interested in this nonsense. Did your father fill your head with nonsensical ideas of the old ways?"

"My father was an earth pony, Sir." Stalwart answered.

Pathfinder seemed stunned by the revelation. The tension between the tribes before the founding of Equestria had nearly ended with war on multiple occasions. The idea of relationships between a pegasus and one of the terrestrial ponies was still a fairly taboo subject.

"Huh." Finder managed to mutter. "You know that this has nothing to do with earth ponies or unicorns, right? We were the only ones across the ocean."

"I'm a pegasus too, Sir. Cirra is part of my blood, my culture. We can't forget where we came from."

"Some things are worth forgetting," Finder said, eyeing his drink.

Stalwart noticed the look. "Is that why you're here?"

Finder didn't answer Stalwart's question. Silence filled the air between them, a silence louder than any sound either stallion had ever heard. Finder considered the young guard's words, his mind drifting to days long past.

"We're going back to Dioda, Sir, with or without you."

"Tell you what," Finder began, his hoof reaching out for his tankard. "Let me tell you a story. And, if after that story you are still committed to this fool's errand, I'll consider helping you."

Stalwart smiled and sat up eagerly. "I'm all ears, Sir."

"Stop calling me Sir."

"Sorry s—err, Pathfinder."

The elder stallion leaned back in his stool, casting a nostalgic gaze to the ceiling. "Let us journey back, before Cylcone's Coup. Before The Compact and The Long Winter, before The Crystal Barbarians and The Great Exodus. Back across the seas and under the stars to those skies long forgotten..."


	2. The Gathering Storms

"Pathfinder!" Phalanx shouted. Hearing no reply and not seeing his youngest son appear, the stallion's lips pulled into a fierce scowl. "Pathfinder!" he called again with a similar result. Growling in irritation, the stallion gritted his teeth and continued his march through the streets of Altus.

Nearing fifty years of age, Phalanx's pale brown coat was marred with scars befitting an old legionnaire: the mark on his flanks an imposing formation of spears and shields. His once black mane and tail, cleanly cropped regulation short, were streaked with silver strands. Not that he particularly cared what color they were; the color hadn't mattered when he served in the legion, hadn't mattered when he was hauling nets full of fish on to his small boat, and it certainly didn't matter when he was on a mission to find the younger of his two sons.

A strong northeasterly wind whipped through Altus, carrying with it a powerful spring thunderstorm. Thick, bubbling clouds—dark, grey, and flashing with lighting—grew ever closer over roiling seas. Waves crested over four feet tall, crashing into the sandy shores and dousing the earth in salty water. The tiny flowers that grew along the shoreline collected the seaspray in their petals like perfumed chalices, the sea salt bleaching the color from their delicate petals.

Phalanx pushed through the rushing winds, trotting towards the docks. He spotted his eldest son. A tall stallion with a brown coat and a mane black as pitch, he was a spitting image of his father, though he kept his mane and tail a fair bit longer than Phalanx liked. He seemed preoccupied helping a canary-yellow stallion with a messy amber mane tie boats to the dock. Phalanx recognized the lanky young stallion, but couldn't recall his name.

Together, his son and his friend worked to tie one of the fishing boats to the docks. His son held one end of the rope tight in his teeth while his right foreleg hooked around the rail of the small fishing boat. His friend worked quickly, yellow hooves and teeth masterfully weaving a tight knot around an iron cleat. Each had their wings outstretched, shielding their eyes from the salty spray of the ocean waves that crashed against the dock.

"Longbow!" Phalanx barked.

Longbow jumped, surprised by the call. "Yes, father?"

"Where's your gods-damned brother?"

Another wave crashed against the dock, showering Longbow and his friend with cold ocean water and spume. "He went chasing after a topsail that got loose and blew into town. Is everything alright?"

"He was supposed to get that sail to your mother half an hour ago, and you're telling me he let it fly away?" Phalanx asked irritatedly.

Longbow swallowed hard, inwardly kicking himself. "It wasn't—"

"I give him one simple chore, and he manages to screw it up." Phalanx rubbed his brow with a hoof. "Typical."

The amber-maned stallion shot Longbow a nervous look. "Need anything else, Longbow?"

Shaking his head, Longbow faced his friend and held out a hoof. "No, I think we'll be good now. Thanks again for the help, Pansy."

A large wave crashed against the dock, spraying water over all three stallions. Phalanx shielded his eyes with a wing, an irritated frown pulling at his lips.

"Yeah, I'll see you later!" Pansy said, quickly tapping his hoof against Longbow's and trotting away. He didn't like flying in storm conditions, yet even that was preferable to being around an angry Phalanx.

Longbow watched his friend disappear into town before returning his attention to his father. "Is everything alright, Dad?"

"Aside from the spring storm blowing in, and your brother—"

"Dad! Longbow!" a colt's voice shouted over the wind.

Both stallion's turned towards town, looking to the source of the call. The colt landed between them, his green coat and messy brown mane damp with sweat and the first signs of rain. The mark on his flanks depicted a bronze compass rose. He dropped a crumpled sail on the docks and panted to catch his breath.

Phalanx took a step towards his younger son. "Pathfinder, where in the—"

"There's a legionnaire in town asking for everypony to gather, Dad!"

Phalanx halted, a brief moment of concern making him forget the reprimand.

"Boys, come with me," he ordered, turning around and trotting into town.

Longbow took the bundled sail from the dock and quickly tossed it into the boat. As he passed Finder he reached out with his right wing, giving the colt a quick hug. Finder grinned up to his brother; they followed their father side by side.

The town square was full of ponies by the time the three of them arrived. Pathfinder hopped onto his hind legs, his front hooves planting themselves on Longbow's back so he could see over the taller stallions in front of them. Standing alone in the center of the square was a grey-coated stallion, his blue mane and tail cropped very short. Thick, iron armor, polished to an almost reflective luster, covered most of his body, his sword and a brown haversack hunging from his left side.

"Citizens of Altus," the legionnaire began, his voice booming through the crowded town square. "I am Centurion Trail Blaze of the 8th Legion. Early last week, our great empire was attacked! Griffon filth stole their way into the heart of Stratopolis and attempted to assassinate our emperor, The Great and Honorable Augustus Haysar, himself!"

A shocked murmur went through the crowd, Pathfinder noticed Phalanx looked particularly offended by the news. The older stallion continually flexed his wings, as though he were wearing his old wingblades and itching for blood.

"Shortly after this heinous, unwarranted, and cowardly attack, we have had griffon uprisings throughout Cirran territories east of Nimbus. Furthermore, Archduke Ottgam Magnus of Angenholt," Trail Blaze sneered the name as condescendingly as he could, "has appointed himself emperor of the griffons territories and has executed many of our regional governors."

Trail Blaze continued his speech, pacing in front of the crowd. "Brothers, sisters, proud Cirrans. Should we lie back and accept this transgression?"

"NO!" the crowd shouted back.

"Will we stand idle, and let the griffons spill pegasus blood with no recourse?"

"NO!" the crowd shouted again.

"Of course we won't!" he shouted, stomping his hoof. "So, my brave brothers and sisters, our great Empire has issued the call to arms! All stallions between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five eligible for service are ordered to report to the town hall for conscription first thing tomorrow morning. There I will record your names, then we will fly to Stratopolis for training and deployment."

He stopped his pacing and smiled to the gathered crowd. "Brothers, sisters, the gods are with us, and we shall spill every drop of griffon blood that dares raise their claws to us."

The centurion saluted the gathered crowd before he trotted off in search of the inn. Altus was a long flight to Stratopolis, and he wasn't about to lead fresh greenwings through a spring thunderstorm. Pathfinder watched him disappear down the street before he looked to his father.

Phalanx stood motionless, his jaw set and a contemplative expression on his face. Finder could feel Longbow's nervous shivering under his hooves. It confused the young pegasus; his big brother had never been afraid of anything.

"Let's go home," Phalanx spoke after a moment, his voice unusually quiet. "Your mother needs to know."

Pathfinder slipped off Longbow's back, their father's wing replacing his hooves. The younger brother took his place at Longbow's side, following the older stallions home.

* * *

Sea Breeze hummed to herself, the end of a wooden spoon in her teeth. She carefully mixed the bubbling stew that cooked over the small hearthfire, the aromatic smell of shellfish, vegetables, and spices filling the kitchen. Tapping the spoon on the edge of the kettle, she placed it into a thick ceramic cup before adding a small log to the coals.

She knew her Phalanx had told their boys to tend to the docks before the storm hit. Most of the time, that meant they would all come home soaking wet and hungry. She always liked to have a warm meal waiting when they returned, along with a bit of ale for Phalanx. Momentarily satisfied with her efforts, Sea Breeze allowed herself a moment to catch her breath and rest on a simple floor pillow.

Resting her head on her forelegs, Sea Breeze watched the orange and yellow flames lap at the bottom of the kettle. Pops and crackles shot tiny embers from the burning logs that danced in the hearth for scant moments before fading into the cold air. She shivered and tucked herself in closer to the fire. Phalanx would be upset that she hadn't rested more, but she would be damned before she let him try to cook dinner again.

Sea Breeze shuddered; if that was how a legionnaire cooked then it was a miracle Cirra had even a single soldier left standing.

No knock preceded the opening of the door. Sea Breeze turned her head, smiling when she saw her family walk in. She slowly got to her hooves, taking her time to keep her balance before facing her stallions. Her smile faded when she noticed the grim look on her husband's face.

Phalanx quickly noticed the alluring scent before he saw the kettle. His mouth watered by reflex even as he sighed. "You were supposed to be taking it easy today."

"It's no trouble to make a little dinner for my boys," she countered.

Shaking his head, Phalanx moved to his wife, gingerly nuzzling against her. He extended his left wing, which he draped over her back. He turned his head back, looking to Longbow and Pathfinder. "Set the table, your mother and I need to talk."

"Yes, Sir," they answered.

Sea Breeze's brows knitted together, the worry plain on her face. Her brown eyes drifted from her husband, to her sons, and back again. All three bore a similar numb expression as Phalanx ushered her into their bedroom and quietly shut the door.

Finder and Longbow waited a moment before they moved. Longbow, being the taller of the two, moved to the cabinets and retrieved four ceramic bowls and wooden spoons. Finder gathered their mother's sewing supplies from the table and neatly placed them into a wicker basket. Longbow slid two bowls and spoons to his brother, which Finder took in his front hooves and arranged properly on his side of the table.

"I wanna go with you," Finder said.

"You're only thirteen, little brother," Longbow answered, his voice quiet.

"I'll be fourteen in a couple weeks!"

"That's still four years too young."

"I can help," Finder argued, placing the spoons next to the bowls. "I know how to—"

"Finder," Longbow's stern tone was enough to stop the colt's talking. "You can't come."

The colt's ears fell flat and a pout tugged at his lips. Longbow smiled, moving around the table and ruffling Finder's mane with his hoof. Finder's protest came in a soft giggle, his own hoof batting away Longbow's.

"Go on, get some ale from the cellar for Dad. I'll see if Mom is okay."

Nodding, Finder moved towards a heavy wooden door installed into the floor of their home. Biting a rope handle, he slid the door off and wiped his tongue on his foreleg. He hated the way that rope tasted.

Peering down into the dank cellar, Finder gulped. Taking a half-step back from the cellar, he glanced up just in time to see Longbow's tail disappear into their parents' room. He could hear his mother crying quietly; it made his heart ache.

Looking back to his task, he licked his lips and gulped. He hated the cellar, ever since his father had told him that little monsters lurked in the shadows, eager to reach out and snatch unsuspecting colts. Even after he had grown up and Longbow had convinced him that Phalanx hadn't been serious, the trepidation had never fully dissipated. With a final breath, Finder reluctantly moved down the steep stairs. Cobwebs scraped across his face, sending a shiver down the young pony's spine. He held his wings tight to his sides, imaging them as a warm blanket.

The cellar was a small, utilitarian space. There was only enough room for two or three stallions to stand, less if they opened their wings. Phalanx had built it before Finder was born as a place to store wine and preserves for winter.

The ale was kept in four wooden barrels, each larger than Finder. Sitting on top of one barrel was a ceramic pitcher with a carrying cord at the top. Finder jumped to his hind legs, balancing his front hooves on the top of the barrel. It was still a stretch for him, but he was able to reach the pitcher without using his wings.

Setting it down on a small wooden stool, he lined the pitcher up with the first barrel's tap and poured. Dark, pungent, Cirran ale filled the empty pitcher, the scent wrinkling Finder's nose and making his eyes water. How anypony could drink ale, he would never know.

Once the pitcher had enough ale so Phalanx could have at least two mugs, Finder quickly made his way back upstairs. His father sat alone at the table, his front hooves pressed together just in front of his muzzle. He barely seemed to notice Finder, even as the colt poured his ale into a waiting mug.

Finder left the pitcher on the table before he went to his and Longbow's room. The small room hosted two twin beds, a single nightstand between them with an oil lantern in the center. Finder made his way over to his bed and pulled a simple wooden box from under it. Inside were several toy legionnaires carved by a local artisan from tree boughs washed up on the beach.

Finder reached into the box with his dexterous primary feathers, pulling out his favorite toy. The little wooden legionnaire had been painted with his coat and mane colors, a sword held in his teeth. Taking the toy in his hooves, Finder stared into the statuette's eyes. To join the Legion was an honor for every Cirran. Even mares, while excluded from the draft, were allowed to enlist for frontline combat.

Alone on the cold wooden floor, Pathfinder contemplated the little legionnaire. He wondered what a griffon looked like. His father had fought the griffons in the previous war, but he never spoke of it to his children, despite their repeated questions over the years.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there before his father called him to dinner.

That night, they ate their meal in silence.

Sea Breeze excused herself to bed early, Phalanx not far behind. Longbow and Finder dutifully attended to the cleaning. Afterwords, Longbow laid down in front of the hearth, his mind far away from their modest home. Finder laid beside him, resting his head on his forelegs.

Hours later, when the fire had burned to gently glowing coals, Longbow rose from his spot and went to his bedroom. Finder followed close behind, climbing into his bed as Longbow settled into his own.

Sleep eluded Finder well into the night. His back, his sides, his belly; no position worked. Rolling again, he looked to Longbow's bed. The older stallion's back was facing Finder, though he couldn't tell if Longbow was awake or asleep.

Quiet as he could, Pathfinder slipped out of his bed and moved to Longbow. He chewed at his bottom lip for a moment before gently shaking his brother with a hoof. Longbow cracked one eye open which he used to shoot Finder a questioning look.

"I can't sleep," Finder whispered, rubbing his shoulder with a hoof.

Longbow sighed once before sliding over. "Hop in."

The smallest of smiles pulled at Finder's lips. With a soft grunt he climbed into the bed, still warm from where Longbow had been. His left side nestled against Longbow's right, the contact soothing Finder to a degree.

"Longbow?" he spoke after several minutes of silence.

"Hm?"

"Why do you have to go?"

There was a pause before Longbow answered. "It's my duty as a Cirran."

"I'm a Cirran too," Finder argued turning to face Longbow. "Why can't I come with you?"

Longbow laughed quietly, hooking a foreleg around Finder's shoulders. "'Cause I need you to be here to look out for Mom and Dad."

"But who'll look out for you?"

"The Legion will be there for me," Longbow answered. "It's like having thousands of brothers and sisters to keep an eye on you."

The answer did little to ease Pathfinder's anxieties. "You're gonna come back home soon, right?"

"As soon as I can."

Finder leaned his head against Longbow's shoulder. "You're gonna miss my birthday…"

Longbow winced. "I guess I'll just have to make it up to you next year."

"You promise?"

Longbow turned to face his brother, his warmest smile on display for the colt. "Finder, I promise that next year we'll have a great time on your birthday. You and me, we'll fly the whole coast from dawn to dusk and explore everything we can find."

Pathfinder smiled, throwing his forelegs around his brother's chest and hugging him tightly. "Promise you'll think about us?"

Longbow's left hoof petted Finder's mane while his right foreleg returned the embrace. "I'll be dreaming of home every night, Finder. I promise."

"Love you," Finder whispered

"I love you too, little brother."

Pathfinder nodded, squeezing his eyes shut and burying his face in Longbow's chest. The elder brother hummed a lullaby, his hoof continually stroking Finder's mane. It was a simple, almost melancholic melody; understated, yet hopeful. It brought an easy feeling to Finder and gently carried him to sleep.

* * *

Morning came all too soon for everypony in Altus. Every stallion of fighting age, and more than a few mares, had formed a long line in front of the small table Trail Blaze had set himself up behind. Each pony signed their name to a scroll of paper and were given time to be with their families until Trail Blaze was finished.

The entire process maintained a funeral-like atmosphere that unsettled the young Pathfinder. Ponies spoke to each other in hushed voices while parents and lovers wept for the mares and stallions being sent to serve their country. They all held their loved ones close, hoping Trail Blaze would always take one more minute to finish his tasks.

Inevitably, though, he finished recording every stallion and mare that had shown up. Rolling up the scroll of names, he took a breath and cleared his throat.

"Recruits," he shouted, his voice cutting through the gentle murmurs and cries. "We fly to Stratopolis in fifteen minutes. Prepare yourselves accordingly."

Longbow's heart raced in his chest. With a nervous swallow, he turned to his parents and brother. Phalanx stepped forward, pulling him into a tight embrace.

"I love you, son," he said, reluctantly pulling away. "You make this old soldier very proud."

"I'll kill some griffons for you," Longbow promised.

Phalanx smiled and nodded, stepping away so Sea Breeze could have her moment with their son. Her eyes, pink and swollen with tears, looked at him with love and regret. She brushed his bangs aside with a hoof, smiling and pulling him into a tight hug.

"My brave boy," she began, her voice barely more than a trembling whisper. "You be careful out there and come back to us safe and sound."

"I'll be fine, Mom," Longbow promised, smiling boldly for her. "I promise."

"I put some dried berries into your saddlebag, incase you get hungry during the trip."

"Thanks, Mom."

Sea Breeze smiled, tears rolling down her cheeks. She kissed his cheek and forehead. "I love you, so much."

"Love you too, Mom," he replied, hugging and kissing her in return. "I'll be back before you know it."

Sea Breeze held onto her son for as long as she could. She longed for the days when he had been a tiny foal, nestled safely in her forelegs where she could protect him. Now her baby boy was a full grown stallion, off to war in distant lands where she couldn't be there for him.

It broke her heart.

With Phalanx's gentle urgings, Sea Breeze reluctantly let Longbow free of her grip. Longbow took a deep breath before moving to his brother. Pathfinder sat close by, his bottom lip quivering, and his eyes full of tears he stubbornly refused to shed. Longbow sat beside him, draping his left wing over Finder's back. The younger brother leaned into the embrace, gently nuzzling Longbow's shoulder.

"Take good care of Mom and Dad while I'm gone."

Finder nodded. "I will."

"I'll miss you."

Finder gritted his teeth, struggling to contain his tears. Slipping out from under Longbow's wing, he reached into his little saddlebag and pulled out his favorite legionnaire toy. He stared at the green painted legionnaire for a moment before offering it to Longbow.

"I want him back."

Longbow laughed, taking the wooden toy with a hoof and tucking it into his bag. "I promise, I'll get him back to you."

Finder hugged Longbow tightly. "I love you."

Longbow returned the hug, kissing the top of Finder's head. "Love you too, kiddo."

"Recruits!" Trail Blaze barked. "Form up!"

The brothers reluctantly parted, Finder returning to their mother's embrace while Longbow prepared to fly to war.

"All right colts and fillies," Trail Blaze began with a broad grin, "we're off! For the Emperor, for Cirra, for Glory! Follow me!"

With a mighty flap of his golden wings, Trail Blaze took to the skies. Dozens of stallions and mares followed after him, their wings kicking up dust as they left the earth. Trail Blaze flew in a circle around them, his voice singing his legion's anthem.

_The letter came to town today_

_We're up and warring far away_

_The letter came to town to say_

_All the stallions up by the end o' day._

_My Recruiter came and told me-o,_

_All you stallions you're set to go_

_I looked down the line and found it so,_

_Just like my recruiter told me-o!_

_We found ourselves so far from home_

_We ain't got time to read no tomes_

_Get up with your gear and set to roam,_

_Maybe when you die we'll send you home._

As the voice faded to the winds and the newly recruited pegasi disappeared into the horizon, Pathfinder threw himself into his mother's embrace and wept.

* * *

_They were watching him._

_Even through the pitch black of night, he could tell they were watching him. Hungry, lusting eyes, that seemed to manifest through the interminable blackness. Like a predator, they watched him. With hatred, they watched him._

_Figures, cloaked in shadow, leapt out at him, their eyes burning like fires in the darkness. They screeched at him, the sound at once silent yet loud enough to make the world itself tremble. He saw teeth, white, sharp daggers that smiled at him. Hunger, lust, predator, prey._

_He turned and ran, as fast as his hooves could carry him. Through a dense forest of oak, ash, and pine, he ran. Thick boughs whistled past his ears, as though determined to take his head from his shoulders. The screams nipped at his heels, the cold breath of his pursuers washed over the back of his neck. For an eternity, he ran, barely a hair's breadth in front of the beasts, until he burst out of the dark forest._

_It was daylight, the high-noon sun bathing everything in a washed-out light. He was standing on a great stone bridge over a deep ravine. A shallow stream trickled far below, the waters clear and pure._

_Lining the center of the bridge was a long row of corpses, many wrapped in clean, white linens. Ponies clutched, cradled, and wailed over the bodies, yet somehow no noise met his ears. When his eyes fell to the body nearest him, he recoiled. His mother cradled the naked body, Longbow's body._

_The body was withered from exposure, the hair of his mane and coat having fallen away, revealing burned, brown skin. His wings were gone, bloody, ragged stumps the only indication of where the limbs should have been. Longbow's eyes, once blue and full of life, were gone. Empty sockets full of the blackest shadows stared back at him._

_"Not my baby!" she screamed, cradling the withered corpse in her forelegs. "Gods above, please! Give me back my baby!"_

_He took a step towards his mother, reaching out for her with a hoof. She recoiled, slapping his hoof away. Longbow's body fell to the stone road, making no noise at the impact._

_"You did this!" she shouted "You!"_

_He tried to speak, but no words escaped his mouth._

_"Why did you kill him?!" She demanded. "Why didn't you save him?!"_

_Pressing her hooves into her eyes, his mother wept for her dead son. Longbow's corpse sat upright of its own volition, as though the gods themselves answered Sea Breeze's desperate call. His mouth hung ajar in a silent, terrible, scream._

_"My baby!" Sea Breeze cried, holding her forelegs out to embrace her son's body._

_Slowly, the corpse leaned forward, falling onto its belly. Throwing its forelegs forward, it dragged itself towards the edge of the bridge. Sea Breeze leapt up, following the corpse as it pulled itself to the edge._

_He could see down into the ravine. A small creek filtered between white river stones. He could see countless bodies littering the riverbanks. The corpse edged closer, its dry flesh scraping across the stone road._

_"Longbow, w-what are you doing?" the mother pleaded. "A-are you saying you want to die?"_

_Longbow's corpse didn't answer, pulling itself over the ledge and plummeting to the rocks below._

_He looked back to his mother, only to find her gone. In her place, a massive griffon stood, its feathers black as coal and claws that seeped blood in thick rivulets. It smiled at him with it's wickedly hooked beak. With a terrible screech, he fell._

_He landed onto a pile of bones which split and shattered under his weight. The river ran dry, thick flames overwhelming it. They leapt towards him, forming axes, spears, swords, and daggers that seared his coat and feathers. He screamed, terror overwhelming his senses._

_A cold rain fell from the interminable heavens, dousing the flames._

Pathfinder awoke with a deep gasp, his lungs greedily sucking in air. The candle on his nightstand flickered a gentle orange flame, bringing a moment of panic to the young stallion. Rubbing his hooves over his face, he sat there for a time, breathing and allowing his fear to melt into the sweat-soaked mattress below him. Only once his heartbeat had reached a more reasonable level did he again open his eyes.

He was in Longbow's bed, again. He had trouble sleeping in his own in the three weeks since his brother had gone to war. The nightmare that had woken him up was the latest in a string of terrible dreams he had experienced.

Pathfinder's fourteenth birthday two weeks earlier had been anything but celebratory. His father had barely said a word since Longbow left and his mother had been in a constant depression. There had been no songs or gifts, only an all-encompassing emptiness that all three had shared in.

Letting out a trembling breath, Finder looked out the window. He could see lightning flickering over the open seas. Like the creatures of his nightmare they encroached towards shore, eager to swallow him whole.

No matter how he tried, he couldn't shake the pit of dread that had steadily grown in his stomach as time went by. There had been news of bloody fighting east of Nimbus, and no word from Longbow where he would be deployed. If Longbow was sent to Nimbus, would he be okay? Would the legion watch his back the way Finder would?

He couldn't leave that to chance, he wouldn't.

Grabbing his saddlebag, Finder snuck into the kitchen and took enough dry food to last several days of flying. He didn't have a canteen, but he wouldn't need it. There were plenty of rivers and streams he could drink from along the way.

Lastly, he sat at the kitchen table with some parchment and a charcoal. He stared at the blank sheet for several minutes before he wrote a simple note:

_Mom, Dad,_

_I've gone to enlist in the Legion. Longbow needs my help, and I won't let you talk me out of it. We'll be home soon, and I'm sorry._

_Your loving son,_

_Pathfinder_

Satisfied, the colt put on his saddlebags and his winter cloak. He took one last look at his parent's closed door before he slipped out into the night.


End file.
